'Twas a bright, smiling day in the forest of Prilly,

when Kevin was singing and looking quite silly.

With an out-of-key song and a skip in his step,

he made a tough journey look less than a schlep.

Though, good Kevin had to stop while mid-song

as he came across something that seemed very wrong.

"A weed? In the forest of Prilly, no less!

something like this makes it look such a mess!"

But as Kevin stooped and eyed the plant nearer,

his identification of the weed became clearer.

"Aha!" he declared, though it didn't state much,

that is, until he said something as such;

"No! I was wrong! I was wrong, indeed!

For this plant is one pretty rose! Not a weed!"

Kevin clapped for himself, for he had done well,

until he had given the rose a good smell.

"Oh dear," he declared. Again, nothing stated.

"It appears that my information is dated!

For this is no weed or a rose, if you will.

This seems to be just one pretty daffodil."

Good Kevin leapt in the air with great glee,

for there was no truth that he could not see,

apart from the fact that the plant he had named

was not of the title that he'd entertained.

You see, in some cases, Kevin did succeed.

For example, he knew the plant was not a weed.

And also he figured, with the help of his nose,

that the plant before him wasn't really a rose.

Good Kevin, however, knew not much more

than a plain, old rock when it came to the outdoor.

You see, Kevin got one thing wrong that day

and yet he kept singing and skipping away.

So, just as he can't tell a horse from an ant,

Good Kevin couldn't name the Prilly-posh plant.

Do you live

Across the street

From a creature with big hairy feet?

If you do it must be true

So I should come to live with you.

I’d like to meet big hairy feet

And toe to toe I’d say hello

Don’t go, I know, I know, I know

You have big hairy feet I see

But so do I, you’re just like me.

Such glee!

Have you seen the snow?

It’s puffy you know.

It’s fluffy and stuffy and scruffy and cold.

It’s white when it’s young,

It’s sludge when it’s old.

And it flies in from high in the sky, I’ve been told.

When you’re childish and chill,

It can be quite a frill.

You can play every day as you may if you will.

And, when school gets called off,

How so happy you feel.

You can dance, take a chance and just prance. What a thrill!

You can shuffle outside with your bucket-ma-whuppets

and shovel-ma-wovels, and all.

You can build snow-la-bobbles that wiggle and wobble--

What a show when they finally fall!

You can watch grumpity grumps in their lumpy hat lumps

Driving around in their bumpy truck bumps

Skidding their wheels over bright white snow humps

From your dining room window while eating your lunch.

You can watch all the dads in their blow-a-ma-lawns

Blowing the snow til it looks like it’s gone

Or you can watch all the moms with their brushety sticks

Brushing the snow off the things that she picks.

You can sit inside warm in your cozety bed

And wonder why grownups find snow such a dread.

Because, after all, you never may know

Why grownups find trouble with wonderful snow.

I’ll write about hockey, I thought, yes indeed.

If I were a reader then that’s what I’d read.

Because hockey is fast and a game played on ice.

If I had some skates on I’d think it quite nice.

And it’s not just the skates, no there’s more.. you’re in luck!

You chase at high speed this small thing called a puck.

And you try not to fall but score goals, that’s the trick

As you whack at the puck at high speed with a stick.

And the ice it stays frozen and shines with a sheen

Cos it’s cleaned all the time with a special machine.

That hardly looks real and in fact looks quite phony

And has a weird name, yes it’s called a Zamboni

Don’t let me distract with this talk of Zamboni

They are finnicky things sometimes moany and groany

But they get the job done and they make the ice whole

So that you can get on with your job – score a goal!

The little boy started looking down

He began shouting that he would drown

It was too dark

He saw a shark

In the puddle on the playground

Diddling with a fiddle

The fat cat sings a riddle

Tapdancing on paws so little

Wailing as his belly jiggles,

"Sizzle sizzle

Whistle whistle

What a simple

Dish I chisel!"

Can I write

Like a master

Sure I might

But he’d be faster

For the four beat

In his time

Could I compete

With his rhyme

I could not

Would not

Cause he aced it

My orange to door hinge

Wouldnt place When

winnings hinged

Against what he’s written.

It will not

Shall not

Even place if

My riff bore seeds

or sleeved an ace

He’d be King bee

Any time or space

whether

I did lace it with cool lingo

Where I

To use clever words like archipelago

I could Jot the foxtrot

Dance a tango with two pens.

Waltz words in written curves

Id be the hokey pokey compared to him.

If my words could match his clock

If so skilled werent his metered tick tock,

If getting close were still down a block

If my words could find missing socks

Silly me could not compete

I Would not land there on my feet

Dare I

Care I

to compare I

My verbage flops

Every time my

rhyme stacked against

the good old Doc!

Silver, sweet, lacy, care

A doily here, a teapot there

A child's dream land

Come to play?

As the sun rose up

Now, about midday

It's a tea party

A party with tea

With high up pinkies

And cups filled with glee

Here's Mr. Quare

He's a talking bear

With big brown paws

A fluffy brown hair

At this tea party

A party with tea

With high up pinkies

And cups filled with glee

There's Miss Bonbon

She's a pink swan

With light, graceful feathers

And a wool-knit sweater

At this tea party

A party with tea

With high up pinkies

And cups filled with glee

Finally, there's Liz

A girl with a head of friz

With a little cotton dress

Who will forever effervesce

Cause it's her tea party

A party with tea

With high up pinkies

And cup filled with glee

Where anyone is welcome

That's just the rule of thumb

No matter what you do

No matter where you go

Your mom will always love you

Even if you married a guy you didn’t really know.

A mothers love is steady

A mothers love is true.

A mothers love is special

She can kiss away all your booboo’s

So remember kids

Wether your name be Junebug,

Or Sheamus McGuilicutty

Or just simple plain Jane O’shay,

Your mother will always love you

No matter how far away.

I want to be honest.

I want to be free.

But, sometimes I can't

because addiction has got a hold on me.

How did I get here?

Why did I let it go so far?

I ask myself "Do you even remember who you are?"

I told myself I'd never be that person, that I'd never risk destroying my family.

But, somehow addiction got the best of me.

I knew it was wrong.

But now I want to be different,

I want to be strong.

I want my life to move along.

No more addiction

No more substituting feelings with things that don't belong.

I feel like I'm bad,

but I want to be good.

Come on girl,

you weren't raised in the hood.

You're better than this.

You're better than THAT.

Stop wasting opportunities,

that's what you're doing,

and it's a fact.

This time actually try to get better

and weather the storm.

You want to find purpose,

but, this, this is not why you were born.

You're here to be strong.

You're here to be free.

But the white stuff isn't going to let that be.

Let's move on.

Let's give that up.

All THAT will cause is for you to be stuck.

You can do this.

You can turn it around.

Don't let this one thing beat you down.

Go to the meetings.

Follow the steps.

Beat the addiction.

Later, you can figure out the rest.

Go be free.

Go be strong.

Go be determined.

Move life along.

Stop staying you will.

Just go and do.

Because you know you can go any direction you choose.